The people who sailed in the Flora that night may forget some other things if they live a good while, but they will not live long, enough to forget that.

The Flora is about the equivalent of a cattle-scow; but when the Union Company find it inconvenient to keep a contract and lucrative to break it, they smuggle her into passenger service, and "keep the change." They give no notice of their projected depredation; you innocently buy tickets for the advertised passenger boat, and when you get down to Lyttelton at midnight, you find that they have substituted the scow.
They have plenty of good boats, but no competition--and that is the trouble.

It is too late now to make other arrangements if you have engagements ahead.
It is a powerful company, it has a monopoly, and everybody is afraid of it--including the government's representative, who stands at the end of the stage-plank to tally the passengers and see that no boat receives a greater number than the law allows her to carry.

This conveniently-blind representative saw the scow receive a number which was far in excess of its privilege, and winked a politic wink and said nothing.

The passengers bore with meekness the cheat which had been put upon them, and made no complaint.
It was like being at home in America, where abused passengers act in just the same way.